“Would you like to buy a cowhide paper bag, sir?” The slightly hoarse female voice fell like thin snow on jagged mountain rocks—its softness torn by the stone’s crevices.

Qiao Hui looked up. Beneath a blue oil-paper umbrella stood a girl in a dark brown jacket, her hair pinned with a wooden hairpin. Her eyes were clear, her nose delicately upturned, her chin small and neat. Beside her sat an abacus.

Qiao Hui wasn’t surprised. Anyone who could solve Tianyuan-style equations would naturally know how to use an abacus. What did surprise him was that most women in this world resembled flowers—caged peonies, water lotuses, snowy plum blossoms, or night-blooming lilacs. Whether vibrant, elegant, or subdued—they were all flowers.

But this girl was like a tree. A holly tree in the dead of winter—unfazed by frost, never shedding leaves.

“No.” Tree, grass, even cactus—none of it concerned him.

Hands behind his back, Qiao Hui said, “No one can get the Six-Zhang Xuan. This is a rigged game where the house always wins. I’m just a casual player—no need to carry the house’s sedan chair.”

“If you lose, what will you wager?” Xianjin smiled, flashing her signature eight teeth.

Qiao Hui frowned.

Xianjin repeated, “You just said no one can get the Six-Zhang Xuan. If someone does, what will you bet?” Her tone was gentle, but her stance was firm.

Qiao Hui glanced again at the woodblock sign. To redeem a sheet of Six-Zhang Xuan, one had to collect five different color slips.

From today’s sales at the academy, only Zhang Wenbo and eight other students who bought over ten bags had drawn any color slips—and they were all the lower-ranked red, blue, and green. Out of nearly 300 bags, only about ten color slips had appeared—a 1-in-30 chance. The top-ranked Moon White hadn’t shown up yet.

Who knew what its odds were? Maybe 1-in-100!

Who could collect all five in just eight days?

Qiao Hui lifted his chin, a trace of pride in his brows. “You set the total number of bags and the distribution of color slips. You made the rules, so of course, you know how to win. This bet isn’t fair.” He smiled, a touch of youthful arrogance in his expression. “Likewise, you’re running the game at the academy—setting up a bet no one can win, spinning the scholars in circles. That’s not fair either.”

Xianjin tilted her head, subtly sizing him up. Songjiang cloth, cotton shoes, a satchel identical to every other student’s—nothing distinguished him from the rest, except for that overly handsome face, difficult temperament, and rebellious air.

This was a clash between ancient ideals and modern marketing.

Xianjin’s eyes sparkled. She smiled—this time showing ten teeth. “How about this… I’ll tell you a guaranteed way to get the Six-Zhang Xuan. If you support Chen Paper Shop, whether you buy one bag or two, it’s all fate. How about it?”

Guaranteed? In other words, the solution to the Tianyuan-style equation.

The bag might not be worth 120 wen—but the answer was.

Qiao Hui thought for a moment, then pulled out a small string of coins and placed them on the table. “I’m listening.”

Xianjin took the money, casually pulled a bag from the cabinet, and pushed it toward him. “It’s simple. Buy all the bags!”

“If you buy them all, you’ll naturally collect all five color slips!”

Qiao Hui: … No merchant is truly innocent.

Even one who knows Tianyuan equations is still cunning.

Even one who resembles a holly tree is still cunning.

Qiao Hui lowered his head and took a deep breath.

You couldn’t say she was wrong, because she wasn’t. When the sample size is large enough, probability naturally increases—that’s basic logic. But “buy them all” clearly wasn’t the answer he wanted.

Seeing his frustration, Xianjin handed him a cup of tea and smiled gently. “I didn’t mean to tease you. It’s just that you seem to have a bias against Chen Paper Shop’s sales methods, so I couldn’t help but push back a little. The saying goes, ‘Good wine fears no alley.’ That’s true. But what if the wine isn’t in a deep alley, but a shallow one? Doesn’t that mean more people can smell it? Buy it?”

“Same with Chen Paper Shop.”

“We work hard to make paper, and we sell it honestly. We don’t cheat, deceive, or set traps. We’re not fooling the academy’s scholars—we’re just using a few clever tricks to let more people know about us.”

“You said no one could get the Six-Zhang Xuan. I’ll say this now—someone will.”

She lowered her voice. “Our rule is that you must collect five color slips. But we never said one person has to collect all five. Color slips can be traded, gifted, or even sold. The odds of getting the Six-Zhang Xuan may be small—but they’re not zero.”

Qiao Hui looked deeply at Xianjin, then scanned the stall once more before turning to leave.

“Please wait!” Xianjin called out.

Qiao Hui turned back.

Xianjin respectfully handed him the cowhide bag. “Your blind bag. Chen Paper Shop’s little tricks—please don’t take them to heart.”

Qiao Hui paused for two breaths, then took the bag. He raised an eyebrow and whispered in her ear, “After Master Li’s death at Baochando Temple, no Six-Zhang Xuan has been produced in Jing County. If you’re so sure someone will collect five color slips—where will you get the Six-Zhang Xuan?”

This time, it was Xianjin’s turn to twitch at the corner of her mouth. This guy was so annoying! Like a character in a novel who always pokes where it hurts!

Qiao Hui left with a smile tugging at his lips.

Dong dong dong— the academy’s evening bell rang. Soon, students descended the steps in pairs and trios, carrying their satchels. From afar, they saw a new half-height woodblock sign posted in front of Chen Paper Shop’s stall.

Zhang Wenbo rushed forward, pushing through the crowd. When he saw the words “Six-Zhang Xuan,” his face lit up. He grabbed the nearest person’s sleeve in excitement. But when he read “collect five color slips,” his expression crumpled with a loud “Aiyo!”

In just fifteen minutes, his face had gone through a full range of expressions—very busy.

“Six-Zhang Xuan!” he shrieked like a startled chicken. “It’s been ages since I’ve heard of Six-Zhang Xuan! Chen Paper Shop really went all out this time!”

“If anyone gets it, please let me sniff it!”

“For years, our Anyang Prefecture’s tribute was Eight-Zhang Xuan! That’s for the emperor. Six-Zhang Xuan is the finest paper a scholar like me could ever hope to use!”

“Anyang Prefecture can still make Eight-Zhang Xuan?!”

“Don’t look down on Anyang! Our paper shop, Furong House, may not be near Wuxi or have sweet spring water, but we work hard. We used to produce Eight-Zhang and Six-Zhang Xuan every year—until the old master passed away and the tradition was lost!”

“Liar! Anyang is poor, poor, poor!”

“You—you—you—!”

The conversation devolved into regional bickering.

Zhang Wenbo pushed through the crowd and reached Xianjin. He pulled out two color slips from his sleeve and carefully compared them, muttering, “I’ve got red and blue. Just need three more to redeem, right?”

His eyes sparkled with a familiar kind of naïve foolishness—untouched by the harshness of the world.

Xianjin nodded, smiling sincerely. “Let me tell you a secret—Brother Zhang, I’m betting you’ll be the first to redeem the Six-Zhang Xuan!”